


The Physics of Sledding

by InconceivableHulk



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Childhood, F/M, Future AU, Future Fic, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InconceivableHulk/pseuds/InconceivableHulk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble of a happier future than Sherlock Holmes could ever had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock heard the front door open slowly, followed by slow stumbling footsteps and the heavy thud of someone leaning into it shutting it.  
From the gait and the thumping of the feet, he knew it was Hamish, but something was wrong. His son was not taking the stairs two at a time, his long legs were moving much slower, and as the boy reached the first landing, Sherlock could hear his labored breathing.

Unfolding his long legs from the chair and tossing his laptop aside, he crossed the living room floor and threw open the door.

Hamish had just reached the top of the stairs, his winter hat pulled slightly back to reveal his curly black hair, the snow just beginning to melt off.  
He looked up, one hand cradling his other arm, a crude splint made from several branches and covered in packed snow. He was not crying, as most other boys would be doing had they broken their arm, but he was obviously in pain.

Several emotions hit Sherlock in the chest as he crossed the landing.

 _A burst of irrational fear, his child had been injured and he had not been there._  
 _A stab of panic. How was he going to comfort his son?_  
 _Pride. His son had made a cast out of sticks and snow to keep the swelling down. Clever_. 

He identified, catalogued them and noted calmly how he experienced more emotions as a father in the last 14 years, than he had in his first 30 years of life.

Hamish knew exactly what his father meant to do, and held out his arm with a grimace.  
Pulling the flannel winter jacket off as gently as possible, Sherlock noted Hamish's forearm was beginning to discolor. It was slightly bent at an unnatural angle, but no bone pushing at the skin.

_No protruding skin or bones, indicating simple fracture of the ulna. No growth plates located near the break, growth patterns not affected. Set bone, wrap and rest._

“I take it your sledding expedition was eventful.” Sherlock didn't bother to pose it as a question.  
“Yea well, my angle of descent was steeper than I had calculated.” he gritted his teeth as his father removed the snow and splint.

“Look at me.” Sherlock stared into Hamish’s green eyes. They both knew what was coming, but Sherlock felt the twinge of regret as he pulled hard, setting the broken bone with a crack.  
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding and a moan of pain erupted from the boy’s mouth.

"Good. Good lad." He rubbed his hand over the boys good arm. "Let's go to Uncle John and he'll put a cast on it. Hm?"


	2. The First Law of Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."

The parlor had been transformed expertly into an examining room, the couch pushed to the edge, along with the side table and the extra arm chair. In its place was a short wheeled gurney, drapped in the antibacterially fabric and the legs of a 14 year Hamish.

Dr. John Watson, former captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, former surgeon, current husband and father, now attended his godson's broken arm with an amused smile at the corner of his mouth.

He was more accustomed treating the various scrapes and brusies of his daughter, who had a habit of being a little too adventurous. To have his cautious godson sitting with a broken arm and an adventure, was an anomaly.

"So how, exactly, did you manage to crash a sled?" John asked as he gently wrapped the arm.

"There aren't any decent sledding hills within walking distance, so, obviously, I had to create one." Hamish grimaced and a small gasp escaped him as the bandage was tightened.

John continued to work slowly, but steadily, nodding at the boys logic.

"Obviously." he choked back a chuckle, covering it with a cough. 

Hamish gave an perfect replication of his fathers exasperated eye roll and blew air from between his lips. 

"I simply over-estimated the angle of my snow ramp."

"Newton's first law of motion?" a strong female voice came from the door and both John and Hamish looked up into the strong, beautiful face of Irene Adler.

"An object in motion shall remain in motion, until acted upon by an unbalanced force." Hamish recounted immediately, never pausing or looking away from his mother.

Irene surveyed the damage quickly and efficiently as she crossed the rug, her perfectly manicured fingers reaching out and brushing gently over her sons cheek.

"Are you alright love?" she asked quietly. Hamish nodded, eyes dampening at the softness in her voice and touch. He could match both his parents when it came to their cold, hard exteriors, but he was just a boy, and even boys had their soft moments. 

Irene held Hamish' eyes for a moment, until she forced herself to look to John. Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly, even as he mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Diagnosis doctor?" she asked quietly. She had not dropped her hand from Hamish' face, her thumb smoothing comfortingly across his jaw. 

John cleared his throat, focusing on her words. It never ceased to surprise him, to see her be affectionate and loving.

It was not something she allowed many people to witness. 

"Simple fracture. Nothing serious. Sherlock set the bone before bringing him here." He finished tacking the wrap as he spoke, brushing fingers over it to smooth any snags or bumps he might had missed. 

Irene allowed herself a small breath of relief before she secured the professional mask back on her features. 

"Good. Thank you doctor." she nodded to him gratefully, to which John waved off.

"It's nothing. Rose had me practicing on her, more often than I'd like." he smiled and was pleased to see it returned. 

"I can only imagine. Hamish has been telling us." she squeezed the boys shoulder and John watched him turn beet red.

"Mum." he whispered in a horrified tone. "Have not."

John gave a snort the same time as Irene gave a light laugh and patted his cheek. 

"Do you want me to stay while Doctor John puts your cast on?" she asked once her laughter had subsided. 

Still red as a tomato, Hamish shook his head.

"No. I'm fine." he mumbled. 

"Alright. I'm going to find your father and make sure he's not lighting up." she bent down slightly from her heels, and kissed Hamish' temple. 

John watched in amusement as Hamish gave a small eyeroll as his mother left, then returned his attention to John. His cheeks were still pink, and John made a mental note to pay Mary five quid. He hadn't really expected to win the bet that Hamish didn't have a crush on their daughter, but it was still fun. What made it more fun was Irene's 10 quid against Sherlock in favor of the crush. 


	3. First Law of Thermodynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat is a form of energy.

Even as the door clicked shut behind her, Irene had already scanned the hall for her husband. She may not have had the same skills of deduction as the esteemed detective, but she could see the whisp of smoke drift across the front window and made a bee line for the front door.

She made no attempt to mask her foot steps or disguise her approach, so by the time she reached the front door and opened it, there was no visible sign of the cigarette. 

Sherlock was standing next to the door, staring at the people across the way with strained eyes. He could have very well have been studying them, playing the deduction game he and Hamish often enjoyed, but she knew better.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked with eyebrows raised and hands pushed into the pockets of her coat. 

Sherlock's gaze turned to her and he raised an eyebrow innocently.

"Enjoy what?" his smirk was just there to taunt her.

Sometimes she truly hated that smirk.

"Oh for God's sake." she rolled her eyes and kicked his ankle. Hard enough to make him jolt it back, but soft enough not to cause anything worse than a bruise. 

Sure enough, there under the sole of his shoe, was a half smoked cigarette, tip still barely smoking in the cold winter air.

Sherlock sighed but did not apologize. Indeed, he said nothing at all.

They stood in silence over the smashed, nicotine riddled, stump, neither ready to admit their discomfort yet.

People passed with gift bags and shopping for Christmas, most without a glance at the strained looking couple on the front stoop. 

"It's just a broken arm." Irene finally said with a slow release of breath.

Sherlock shifted and nodded, a grunt of acknowledgement escaping with it.

"Is it not our biological responsibility to protect him?" there was no malice in his comment and Irene had the distinct feeling that he actually felt guilty.

Reaching out, she touched his upper arm, forcing him to look at her.

"Do you really think that  _our son,_ could have been persuaded not to do it?" she asked with a smile.

His returning smile and the laugh that accompanied it erased the guilt they both felt for the moment. As for herself, she would more than likely still feel a twinge whenever she saw the cast, but Sherlock would probably rationalize it faster.

She tried to egg him towards that conclusion a little faster. He always did work better when part of his mind was otherwise occupied. 

"You owe me 10 pounds by the way." she gave him the smirk he was so fond of and watched the gears spin into action.

She watched his eyes dart to the door of the house and the parlor window, through which he could still see John talking to Hamish.

"Rose?" He could follow her line of thinking faster than any man she knew and the thought had her wishing they were back in their flat. 

"Hmm. He even blushed." she held out her hand, waiting patiently for his money. 

"10 pounds now?" he gave her one of his rare mischievous grins. "Or 10 pounds when we are alone?"

Irene let out a delighted laugh, and stepped closer to him. 

"Why Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I do believe you're making me blush." her voice was nearly a purr and, as Sherlock's hand moved up her arm, a young girl came bounding up the steps.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably will add more if people show an interest.


End file.
